


I'll Never Work a Day in My Life (Every Day That I Work With You)

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Not AU, video store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek thinks the best plan of action is to, of course, aggressively and subtly dissuade the entire population of Beacon Hills from romantically pursuing Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Never Work a Day in My Life (Every Day That I Work With You)

**Author's Note:**

> I work a video store and sometimes I write abut my OTP working at a video store
> 
> sigh

“Well, Derek, I think that’s it. I think you’re officially trained.” The boss, the lady part of the duo that ran the store, smiles at him as she spoke. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and Derek is just thankful he didn’t need to be dodging any cheek-pinches or grandmotherly kisses. “So, Stiles should be in soon to start his shift, and you two will handle the store while we’re gone!”

Derek just nods stiffly. The woman waves and darts to the back to retrieve her husband who’s obsessively buying new DVDs for the store on Amazon, and then they’re gone. In the silence of the hour before Stiles shows up, the customers trickle in and out slowly, all flashing Derek friendly grins that Derek returns with minimal pain.

When Stiles finally skids into the store and tosses his bag behind the counter, the early evening rush starts. Derek uses his speed and senses and natural if totally unused charm to make the process as smooth as possible while Stiles does his ritual. Derek juggles movies in one hand, a phone pressed to his ear and trapped with his shoulder, he taps the phone numbers for each customer as they come into the computer and rings them up, hands them their receipt, and sends them on their way with alarming frequency.

Finally, at four fifteen, when at least thirty customers have checked out movies and at least fifty have returned them, Stiles falls behind the counter, near the safe, to tug out the bag for his till.

Derek just leaves him to flounder while he puts away the impressive stack of movies that has collected behind the counter during the rush.

)

They close at ten because it’s Friday, and Derek is all ready to get home to a late but delightful dinner—made by Isaac, who has taken up cooking ever since therapy, and the whole pack reaps the benefits—when some jackass waltz in at nine forty five with fifteen movies to return and a hunger in his eyes for more.

Derek grumbles incoherently under his breath the entire time he’s checking in the DVDs and as he’s putting them away. By the time he slides  _We Need to Talk About Kevin_  back behind it’s case and hurries back behind the counter, Stiles is dutifully at his register, helping the JackAss. The guy laughs and holds up  _Dredd_ , asking Stiles’ opinion.

“I thought the production was really great, but the acting was.. eh, and honestly I couldn’t help but feel like they butchered a brilliant idea. I love the comics, though, so I’m probably not the best person to ask.” A flush rises in Stiles’ cheek, one Derek knows well since it happens a lot when Stiles is talking to  _him_.

JackAss just laughs and hands over the other movies. “What about  _Moonrise Kingdom_?”

“Oh, amazing, one of the best movies of the year. If it doesn’t win Best Picture I might actually stage a revolt.”

The guy just grins, and Stiles is practically oblivious as he checks in movies, taps out the credit card charge and the charges for the whoppers the guy grabbed. When Stiles is distracted tearing the receipt from the faulty printer, Derek catches the man’s eye and snarls.

The guy gets the hint pretty easily, and when Stiles leans forward to wish him a good night, the guy basically high tails it out of there. Derek consoles himself against the put out look Stiles dons, and offers to buy the kid curly fries.

)

It keeps happening. Somehow.

Derek almost wishes for the time when Stiles would moan about his inability to snag a date and his—completely unfounded—claims that he was unattractive and boring, physically. Derek  _almost_  wishes. Not quite.

What Derek wishes for more would other people to start noticing how appealing Stiles is. First it’s the girl who wears black lipstick, then a father of two, who to be honest is a very nice man, but Derek makes no exceptions as he frightens them each away from pursuing Stiles. After the umpteenth time, word somehow travels, because people stop being so flirtatious with Stiles; they smile at him and say hello to him and he’s still the customer’s favorite employee, but no one actively tries to snag Stiles in a date.

It’s perfect; Stiles isn’t too upset about it—after all, Derek can do nothing about his hoards of wanting dates at the college—and nearly all of Beacon Hills thinks Stiles is claimed territory.

(An.. unfortunate comparison, perhaps, but it’s still perfectly true.)

Until one special kind of dickhead.

)

Derek gets into work late, is how it starts. “Sorry, Stiles, Isaac nearly burnt down the kitchen trying a new recipe.”

Stiles waves him off with a dazzling, endearingly crooked smile. “No biggie. It’s a slow weekend, y’know, Valentines day n’all.”

Derek nods even though he doesn’t really know; he’s worked here less than two months, but he’s starting to understand the fluctuations of customers. (Mostly, he’ll agree with anything Stiles says when he’s wearing the tight, vintage Johnny the Homocidal Maniac t shirt.)

“Uh, where are your xBox 360 games?”

Derek looks over, though the customer isn’t addressing him. He counts out his till while keeping eye on the interaction. Stiles points him to the farthest aisle, grinning and telling to go, go, go, keep going, stop stop stop there they are! Yeah.

Derek blinks and realizes he’s put the nickles in the penny section, and snarls.

)

The guy, the aforementioned special kind of dick head, hangs around for an _hour and a fucking half_.

And he never says a word to Derek.

When Stiles goes to put movies away and reaches up to a particularly high shelf, Dickhead’s hands just happen to find their way to the small of his back. When Stiles drops a movie or six and bends to pick them up, Dickhead is very clearly, blatantly, unashamedly ogling Stiles’ ass.

Derek steps in when Dickhead waits in line for Stiles’ register to open up even though Derek’s line is free as a motherfucking bird.

Stiles hands the receipt to Dickhead for him to sign, and instead of writing his name he scrawls out his phone number with a winking smiley face.

Derek knows his eyes flicker red and a growl erupts from his mouth. There’s no one else in the store for the time being so he feels no remorse in stalking over and tearing the receipt to shreds. Stiles stumbles away, hands held in defense as Dickhead leaves in a hurry, running first into the security alarm and then the door on his way out, as well as leaving his movies behind.

“Uh.” Stiles watches the door fall shut.

Derek checks the movies back in and reprints a receipt; he signs it ‘dickhead’ and carefully places it in the designated pile. He puts away the movies and judges Dickhead’s taste in movies the whole while. When he gets back behind the counter, Stiles hasn’t moved.

“What the fuck was that.” Stiles asks, hands slowly dropping to his sides and face pinking as the color returns.

Derek stiffens and shrugs uneasily. “Something.”

“You’re damn right it was something!” Stiles snaps, latching onto the lapel of Derek’s jacket when he tries to turn away. “Talk to me asshole, because I’m like five seconds away from punching you in the jaw and making you pay all my hospital bills.”

Derek bristles good naturedly. “You can throw a punch. I’m not Jacob Black, it wouldn’t break your hand.”

Stiles waves off the guised compliment. “Irrelevant. What the fuck was that?”

Derek doesn’t run, turn away, flee to the backroom, any of his usual tactics. He doesn’t talk either, though, so it’s not really a win.

Stiles makes an unhappy, exasperated noise. “Was this some fucked up way of trying to date me?”

Derek nods and shrugs at the same time and judging by Stiles’ aborted snicker, it mostly looked like a twitch. “Yes. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I. Yes. But if you don’t.”

“I do.”

Derek opens an eye he didn’t realize he closed. “You do?”

Stiles laughs, throwing his whole body into it, laughs and punches Derek in the arm instead of the face. “I do.”

Derek leans forward and kisses Stiles simply, nothing more than a dry press of the lips. Stiles grins into it and pats his cheek. “Good.”

“Is this why Tony stopped bringing me snacks?” Tony is the father of two who makes delightful snacks and is now leaning towards Isaac.

“He likes Isaac.” Derek answers, leaning in for another kiss.

Stiles makes a scandalized and entirely fake noise into the kiss.


End file.
